Today I had the rare opportunity of sitting absolutely still and humming for long periods of time. Not what I had planned or would have chosen to do on any day, but my lot nonetheless. There were dishes piled in the mini-sink, laundry piled in the hall, beds unmade and stacks of things yet to be homed from the move, all of which were calling my name. The sun was shining in Oxford, never to be taken for granted, and the trees were fluttering their colors in a faint hint of possible fall glories to come. It was a get-it-done day and a go-to-the-park day all in one.
But I sat there in the midst of it all in a holding and humming pattern. My Norah is sick. She has a high fever, and just hangs there like a little rag-doll version of herself, wanting to be draped over my shoulder and sung to. I took her to the doctor and apparently it’s not serious, and we just need to take care of her and wait. I worry, though. The worst is to see her holding still. Norah doesn’t hold still. I didn’t think she knew how.
At first I sat there holding and humming with my mind bumping around between fear, fatigue, discomfort, homesickness, and frustration with the unfamiliarity of my surroundings. Pretty soon worry about Norah became a sort of carrying case for every other worry that’s been swirling around in the back of my mind, from the baby due in four weeks to the Smell under the kitchen sink that will not go away. Yet it was necessary to keep humming. And then the songs buzzing from my head in my own voice pulled me up somewhere short of an anxiety attack.
The Lord is…The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want.
God is so good, he’s so good to me. He answers prayer…he’s so good to me.
Jesus loves me, this I know…
Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me.
And I finally remember that we are his children, and he is the ultimate holder and hummer.